Writing a cure
I was having a crummy day today.
I’m still getting over this bloody cold I got last week, for one thing. It’s mostly gone, just a little coughing and blowing my nose left, but I still feel pretty rundown. I’ve felt this way all week and haven’t been able to get much done at home because I just collapse after work.
On top of that, work has been insane. A lot of books are out to strip soon, so we’ve been getting mad rushes on all these final corrections. And it seems like I get to deal with all of them—at least whenever I look at the worktable it doesn’t look like anything’s been removed since I last took something. I feel like it’s all on my shoulders, and despite trying not to I feel responsible for all of it. Not just my share but all of it.
I can’t keep up with the projects right now and it’s really frustrating, esp. since it’s one of those situations where when you do keep on top of things no one notices but when you fall behind everyone immediately gets upset. I’m behind on my own work as well, so I’m frustrated both at work and away from it.
Yeah, a crummy day. One of those days where you look up and realize it’s lunchtime and you’ve already been working for hours but you didn’t notice because you were just too busy.
So you know what I did? I wrote. Over lunch. I worked on my latest novel. Didn’t necessarily get a lot done—revised the prologue and first chapter, added a bit to it, tightened it up. But it felt really really good. I haven’t been writing this week because of the blahs. And I’ve noticed before that when I get too down to write it only makes things worse.
As I just posted to a friend’s LJ, I always get a rush when I write. I dread opening the file and starting to type but as soon as I do I feel better. And then I’m jazzed for a while afterward, esp. if I’ve hit whatever goal I’d set for myself.
It really is an addiction, at least for me. But one with no downsides I can see. If I don’t write I get irritable, lazy, depressed. If I do write I get energized, upbeat. And then I want to write more, which makes me even more jazzed.
What’s not to like?
I’m still getting over this bloody cold I got last week, for one thing. It’s mostly gone, just a little coughing and blowing my nose left, but I still feel pretty rundown. I’ve felt this way all week and haven’t been able to get much done at home because I just collapse after work.
On top of that, work has been insane. A lot of books are out to strip soon, so we’ve been getting mad rushes on all these final corrections. And it seems like I get to deal with all of them—at least whenever I look at the worktable it doesn’t look like anything’s been removed since I last took something. I feel like it’s all on my shoulders, and despite trying not to I feel responsible for all of it. Not just my share but all of it.
I can’t keep up with the projects right now and it’s really frustrating, esp. since it’s one of those situations where when you do keep on top of things no one notices but when you fall behind everyone immediately gets upset. I’m behind on my own work as well, so I’m frustrated both at work and away from it.
Yeah, a crummy day. One of those days where you look up and realize it’s lunchtime and you’ve already been working for hours but you didn’t notice because you were just too busy.
So you know what I did? I wrote. Over lunch. I worked on my latest novel. Didn’t necessarily get a lot done—revised the prologue and first chapter, added a bit to it, tightened it up. But it felt really really good. I haven’t been writing this week because of the blahs. And I’ve noticed before that when I get too down to write it only makes things worse.
As I just posted to a friend’s LJ, I always get a rush when I write. I dread opening the file and starting to type but as soon as I do I feel better. And then I’m jazzed for a while afterward, esp. if I’ve hit whatever goal I’d set for myself.
It really is an addiction, at least for me. But one with no downsides I can see. If I don’t write I get irritable, lazy, depressed. If I do write I get energized, upbeat. And then I want to write more, which makes me even more jazzed.
What’s not to like?